Talking Frankly

For a while I have been thinking I have needed a break from the Man.
Not because I don’t love him, because I do.
Because I don’t want to end up resenting him for the little things that pile up.

Because what he thinks we need and what we actually need are two very different things.
He thinks we need money and things.
I think we need time and love.

Obviously a balance.
Can’t pay bills with love.
But it is how you raise great children.
How you have great relationships.

And we haven’t spent any time together in so.fucking.long.
There is always things to do and people to see and more important shit.
Shit that seems more important.
But really, what is more important than people you love?

When I told him I wanted more, he asked “More what? What more can I give?”
I know he is doing everything he feels important.

I told him I didn’t remember the last time he did something nice for me (other than today when a birthday present that I had bitched about not getting turned up on my bed after he had to special order it in).
He just doesn’t see it my way.
It’s difficult.

He is not happy with his life right now – mostly his job. It doesn’t pay what it should and so he feels he can’t give us what we deserve.
I told him we deserve his time. His words, His love.
Spend time with us doing whatever.

After our talk he went and laid in bed.
Looking a little dejected.

So of course I straddled him.
Kissed him.
Told him I was going to have a shower if he wanted to join me.

He asked how I expected that to work with a 4 year old and a 2 year old.

I gave them food, and there’s a lock on the door.

He joined me.
(Actually I joined him because he fed the kids again and I thought he wasn’t coming in)

I said it’s good, because it seems all we ever do now is in the bed, night time, lights off.
And it’s boring.
Not the sex, that’s amazing.
But the where and the when.

Hoping for a change.
Certain of a change.

Should be good.

Welcome to Birthdays as an Adult

It was my birthday the other day.
I got no good morning kiss with a Happy Birthday honey.

I did get sworn at because the Girl joined us in bed and I thought fuck it I’m not getting up at 5am on my birthday and tried to make her sleep.
Apparently she stole all his blankets.

So I made his morning coffee because he was sulking around looking tired.
And I felt bad.

I let him take the car because it needs to be taken to a repair shop.
He didn’t do it.
In his defence on that one he was super busy at work and couldn’t get anyone to pick him up from the repair shop.

I then had a 4 year old in tow and we walked 3.2 kms.
To buy my own dinner for my own birthday.
And ingredients for my own cake.

We bussed it home (which brought a ridiculous amount of joy to the Boy).

Then I cleaned the house. Family over for dinner for my birthday.
I cooked my own cake.
which was fantastic.

And I got no presents. At all.
I’m Sibling 1 of 5.
1 is dead and 1 is overseas.
2 parents.
1 fiancé.
No presents.
And I know that sounds bitchy considering here I was talking about how broke I am but really – a bunch of flowers at Aldi is $5.
A block of Chocolate is $2.
The lack of effort just makes me sad sometimes.
I love birthdays.
I love making a fuss of them, making them important.

It feels like everyone else’s is more important than mine.

And when telling a friend I was answered “Welcome to adult birthdays – were facebook wall comments are pretty much as good as it gets.”

If You Don’t Have Children, Don’t Tell Me How To Raise Mine

The Boy is four.
As most four year olds are, he is obsessed with Avengers and Ninja Turtles.

I for one am okay with it.
I feel super heroes instil vital moral codes in children, help them learn right from wrong and the consequences.

Having a “friend” over and I use this term loosely because she just sort of threw herself into our life through a small business we have some work with and one of the beloved turtles happened to say “Scum bag!” rather aggressively.
He was right – the character in question is a scum bag.

She was mortified that I let the ears of my precious children be tainted with such words.

This is after lecturing? informing me of a study she had just read that proved children are better off having one parent at home with them all the time.
It’s selfish for one parent to not be with them. To put their children in daycare.
To which I politely told her that if my children were not in daycare we wouldn’t be able to financially get by.

She then moved on to the next study she’d read, about kids with autism.

You can read a million fucking studies and you still don’t have every answer.
You still won’t know what’s right for every child.

My children are as similar as peanut butter and banana.
I fucking love them both but you definitely don’t put both together for everything and they don’t both suit all the same situations – although they make most situations a shitload better because lets face it, peanut butter and banana rocks. Especially with a little chocolate.

Point being.
Good for you for reading a study.
Don’t judge my choices for my children.

Wait until you’ve had your own and fuck them up with your textbook parenting.

Frankly; I’m Broke

There are just some things people don’t discuss.
Things that make people uncomfortable to talk about because it makes them realise that so easily, they could be in the same situation.

The situation being right now, after bills are paid, we have $2.28 for the fortnight.
And that’s without the purchase of food or fuel.
This does not count the money from my casual employment, but you can’t really budget for what you don’t know is incoming.

The uncomfortable situation of not knowing if you will be able to get the layby for Christmas off in time.
The knowledge that you won’t get anything for your birthday.

When you’re joking around that you want a stuffed Pokemon toy, or a fancy dinner out, or a tattoo voucher or a cleaner and all you really want to say is buy me some groceries, I’m struggling. Put petrol in my car. Pay for swimming lessons for my children for a term. Pay for me to be able to take them somewhere nice for once because frankly, I’m sick of telling them I don’t have the money right now.

And we’re not the people you would expect to be broke.
The Man has a full time job. I have one (beginning the second) casual job tomorrow.
We have a nice house (although rented). A newish car. A good suburb.

It just doesn’t happen this way.